


Those Who Have Voice

by Arevni (Solariel)



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Broadchurch Cast, Everyone knows more than they let on, F/M, Getting to Know Each Other, Hardy is starved for company, Murder Mystery, Slow Burn, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 09:01:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19147822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solariel/pseuds/Arevni
Summary: Alec Hardy is annoyed when Miller's absence forces him to work with a temp named Lucia Arden. But when Broadchurch is struck by an unusual crime, it's up to them to figure out a dynamic and follow the mystery wherever the road leads.





	Those Who Have Voice

**Author's Note:**

> Watched Broadchurch, fell in love with everyone and everything. Also, Hardy needs someone to hug.

                                                                                                                                             

 

There was a finely dressed man lying in an immaculate coffin. He would look peaceful, DI Hardy supposed, had his head not been missing. There was a murmur of noise behind as the other policemen sectioned off the church but his attention was focused on the casket in front of him.

 

Leonard Allerton. Rich, well-to-do retiree who had chosen Broadchurch in his final years. To what end, Hardy couldn’t say. Looking over Leonard, Alec noted his shoes and suit, stylish if old fashioned. They looked almost new, undisturbed, his fingers folded over one another in a grip that hadn’t been disturbed.

 

_The head had to have been removed well before the viewing._ He thought to himself, leaning over the coffin to examine the neck. “Did you know this man, Mi-” Miller wasn’t here, he had to remind himself, annoyed. Six months before she would be back on duty. He shunted those thoughts and focused on the separating line between the man’s neck and where his head should have been.

 

Unnaturally clean, sliced neatly like a papercut gone too deep. Hardy scowled, eyebrows coming together as he tilted his head to look at the spine. It was similarly clean cut. Hardy grimaced at the sight, nausea forcing him back before it passed.

 

There was no blood on the pillow, no visible residue or flakes of hair and skin lining the edges of the coffin’s white cloth. For all intents and purposes, it would almost seem as if this was how Mr. Allerton was meant to be.

 

He knew otherwise. This was a professional job, everything was too neat, too perfect to be anything other than a premeditated act. Given the small time frame between the funeral home, the mortician's attention and the wake in the following morning, the...beheader would have to have had this planned this for a while. Criminals did have some morbid hobbies. Turning away from the body, he called over one of the uniforms. “How many people were here when they opened the coffin?”

 

The chubby man flipped through a little notepad, “Uh, twelve, sir- including the Reverend and staff. They’re waiting outside.”

 

“Good,” Hardy nodded, “tell them I’ll need to talk to them.” Hardy was drawn to the floral arrangement- the usual wreaths with the deceased’s portrait hanging in the middle. Nothing strikingly unusual about the deceased. “Mi-” he cut himself off again. “When did the flowers come in?”

 

“They were brought in the night before sir,” the man said, peering at his notebook. “Two wreaths, white lilies, red carnations.”

 

Hardy nodded. Red was a little unusual, but nothing he hadn’t seen before. He filed the information away regardless. “Get me the names of the florist and who brought them in last night.”

 

“Yes sir,” the man said and shuffled off when Hardy dismissed him.

 

“Alec Hardy?” A woman’s voice stole his attention and Hardy straightened up.

 

“This area is off limits,” he started, turning to see a woman, brown-haired and hazel eyed standing in front of him. “You can’t be here,” he raised his hand to wave over one of the other uniforms. “get her out of-”

 

“My name is Lucia Arden,” she interrupted and Hardy was silenced under the American accent. “I am Detective Inspector Ellie Miller’s replacement for the interim.” A dark-gloved hand disappeared inside her suit and came out gripping a familiar badge wallet. It was out long enough for Hardy to scan the contents and be satisfied with its legitimacy.

 

Miller and his meeting had been very similar.

 

“Thought you were coming in on Monday?” It was early Friday morning. Hardy was already only half paying attention for her answer, looking past her shoulder to see the faint silhouettes of Mr.Allerton’s relatives through the glass-stained windows of the door. Still, his hand came out.

 

The woman took it, her grip stronger than he would have expected for someone so slight. The leather of her gloves was fine, molding to his hand as she shook it.

 

“I arrived earlier than expected. I was asked to report in and make my way here.” The badge was put away and she took a step forward to look at the body. “What is the situation?” Her head tilted towards the coffin, seemingly unfazed at the sight of the headless man.

 

“Leonard Allerton. Died three days ago. Cancer.” Arden was nodding along as Hardy spoke,” The wake was supposed to be today. They arrived and opened the casket to find his head missing.”

 

Arden sidestepped him and Hardy watched her, glad to see she kept her hands to herself. There’d been a moment of apprehension when the uppers had told him he’d be getting a temporary replacement- Broadchurch wasn’t exactly thriving with the best of the best. But an American? He pushed it aside, it didn't matter who they sent as long as they were moderately competent.

 

“How old was he?” Arden was looking at Allerton’s hands. The knobby, thin fingers were interlocked.

 

Hardy checked his own notes. “87. Been fighting against lung cancer for over a decade. Finally got to him.”

 

She was looking at Allerton’s neck and spine. “Did you know him or anyone in the family?”

 

Shaking his head, Hardy rounded the coffin. It was expensive, which made sense considering Allerton’s wealth. “No. Acquainted with the Reverend who called it in. Paul Coates."

 

“Known him long?”

 

“Long enough. He lives here.” With his insomnia, Coates might have seen or heard something.

 

Arden squatted looking over the hardwood flooring. “Nothing on the floor. His head must have been taken before they brought the coffin here.”

 

There wasn’t much point in deliberating over it until SOCO had their chance to do a sweep. They’d have to send the body to the medical examiner, figure out _what_ could slice someone’s head off so cleanly. “Family’s outside.”

 

Standing up, Arden patted her thighs and followed him outside, squinting as their eyes adjusted to the sunlight. It was unusually bright for ten in the morning, but the day was fairly cold. And the family looked very small, huddling together.

 

Coates was standing next to a heavily pregnant woman holding a tissue to her nose. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her mascara had run, leaving dark streaks down her cheeks where she hadn’t managed to wipe them. When he saw them exit the chapel, he excused himself to meet Hardy and Arden halfway down the steps.

 

“Mr. Hardy and-?”

 

“Lucia Arden. Miller’s replacement.” Arden introduced herself with a brief handshake, Coates’ eyes flitting down as he grasped her gloved hand. “I wish we could have met under better circumstances. Would you mind if I spoke to the family?” She was looking at the reverend, but her respectful tone and attention were on Hardy, the question clearly having been aimed at him.

 

There was room to deny her if he felt it inappropriate. “Get their information and ask them to meet us down at the station for a statement later.” He tapped Arden's shoulder, "Don't be inconsiderate. These people are already grieving. And don't question them, not yet." The last part was more of a whisper and Arden nodded, whether or not she understood his reasoning was not his problem. As long as she followed his instructions, Hardy would be content - and it would be some weight off his shoulders.

 

“Excuse me, reverend. Thank you for your time.” Arden dismissed herself, heading towards the family that was watching them like frightened animals.

 

Coates watched her go with something akin to curiosity before changing his focus and Hardy was glad he didn’t have to answer any questions about her. Coates looked sick for a moment, gaze drawn to the dark interior of the chapel. “Something like this…” he shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself in a vain attempt to stave off the cold.

 

“When did they bring in the coffin?” Hardy watched the reverend, his natural inclination towards suspicion inflecting his voice.

 

Coates sighed, rubbing his arms, too focused on the events to notice. “Yesterday evening, around five, quarter past?” His voice sounded weary. “And no,” he started before Hardy could ask, “nothing seemed out of the ordinary.”

 

Hardy kept his gaze level. “Any regular bouts of insomnia last night?”

 

Shaking his head, the reverend turned to look towards the family. “No. I’ve been...taking a sleeping aid these past few months. Helps knock me out.”

 

“Do you know the florist?” Perhaps it was a town regular, someone who usually tended to the funerals when they happened.

 

The reverend shook his head. “Didn’t recognize the men that brought the flowers in either. Might be a private commission.”

 

Of course. Nothing could ever be simple, could it? There was a moment between them as Hardy sized up Coates, “SOCO will be here for a while.”

 

Coates sighed, looking defeated, “I’ll head over to Becca’s for the evening. How long do you think-?” It was clear he was remembering Danny, how long the tents had been up on the beach.

 

“As long as we need to figure out who did this.” Empathy gave way to the hard pragmatism and focus that had been part of Hardy for as long as he could remember.

 

The Reverend’s sigh seemed to be a sign of acceptance and Hardy stepped away to follow in Arden’s path.

 

He joined her as she spoke to the family, her voice noticeably softer as she spoke to the pregnant woman, who was flanked by the rest of the family. “Thank you for your time, I am very sorry for your loss.”

 

Hardy hung back for a moment, watching the family. The pregnant woman had her hand wrapped around what he assumed was her husband’s arm and he was next to what Hardy could only assume was his twin. They looked almost exactly the same, save the fact that one of them had styled his hair differently. There were two others behind them, a woman and a man, dressed well and looking worse for wear. All of them looked tired as they listened to Arden instructing them to make their way to the station to give their statements.

 

Joining her, Hardy stepped in and offered his condolences when Arden paused. “We’ll find who did this,” he lowered his voice to a respectful timbre. "Please, get some rest and come into the station, we'll need your statements."

 

“Of course.” The husband exhaled in a weary sigh, running a hand through his auburn hair. “Thank you, Detective-?”

 

“Alec Hardy.”

 

The man nodded and ushered his wife towards the street. The rest of the family followed after offering their thanks. Only a few minutes later, he and Arden were left with the SOCO team as they bustled in and out of the chapel. The chubby officer who he'd spoken to earlier approached them, "Uh, sir-" He looked a little surprised at Arden's presence but was wise enough to shut his mouth about it. "I've spoken to the staff, told them to be down at the station for questioning."

 

"Good. Make sure we have people ready to take their statements when they come in. Tell us if anyone says anything suspicious. And do NOT say anything to the press, understand?" Satisfied at the man's determined nod, he let him go and exhaled noisily through his nose, “We should head down to the station, see what we can learn about the deceased before they come in.” It was the reason he hadn’t immediately started asking questions -shooting blindly in the dark rarely left him with the upper hand. In the corner of his vision, he saw Arden nodding. “Officer Campbell can drop us off.” He started heading down the stairs to where he’d last seen the officer in question before he was interrupted by Arden.

 

“I have a car,” she was pulling out a set of keys from her suit, “If you would like to join me.” Her chin tilted towards the dark gray Camaro that stood at the end of the street. It was an unusual car to see in Broadchurch, masculine and wide, an almost intimidating presence on the slim street.

 

Hardy raised a brow as they approached the heavy, vehicle and opened the passenger side, settling in just as Arden started the car. He knew better than to comment on it, considering he was going to be a passenger in it until Miller came back. “Do you need directions?” The car rumbled underneath him, like a beast waking from sleep. It had more power than any vehicle rightly needed in Broadchurch.

 

She was already reversing, pulling out smoothly though there was no traffic. “No, but thank you.”

 

The brief respite during their drive allowed Hardy to properly take her in. Her profile was nothing unusual. She was a slight woman, short with a straight American nose. Her cropped hair, ashen brown, was tucked behind her ears (the one closest to him clipped at the top) giving her a sort of hawkish look. Her hazel eyes were on the road as she drove them through the familiar streets. Unlike Miller, she was apparently content to spend their short drive in silence.

 

Hardy didn’t mind, leaning against the door and ran his hand over his face, rubbing at his temples as he thought through what he’d seen. Images of the beheaded neck flashed across his eyes, intermingled with the small snippets of what he’d seen of Arden’s work. It was clear she had some experience as she hadn’t had any visible signs of nausea or any qualms about looking directly at Allerton’s severed spine. That she hadn’t touched anything told Hardy that she was well trained enough not to be babysat.

 

But then again, it had only been, what, half an hour? There was a lot of work to do and a part of him wished he didn’t need to learn and create a new dynamic with a stranger. Still, it was better than working alone, if only because more hands meant less strain for everyone involved.

 

Eventually, he broke the silence, “Was everyone family?”

 

“No,” Arden was shaking her head, gloved hands turning the wheel in a well-practiced motion as they rounded a small street, “The blond woman is Marina Smith and is tied to the family professionally. From what I understood, she seems to act as a lawyer and realtor. And the older man in the back was Jacob Williams, a close family friend. I did not have a chance to ask for more.”

 

Something about the way she talked was strange, but Hardy didn’t dwell on what it might be. He just assumed it was the accent.

 

It was a rather small family for such a wealthy man. They’d get more information once they pulled up to the office.

 

He returned his gaze to her, eyes flicking over Arden’s face, “Thanks for coming down.”  Miller and her bloody influence. _Be polite,_ she’d told him once and of course, like a blithering idiot, he was listening to her.

 

“Of course,” they were nearing the station, “the schedule will help me with my jet lag.”

 

She’d gotten in that early? “How long have you been here?”

 

She paused long enough to recall the information, “About nine hours.” The station came into view and Arden parked as smoothly as she’d reversed.

 

“You should eat something,” Hardy said as he stepped out of the car, “there are a few places right by the station. Get your bearings.”

 

“Please shut the door lightly.”

 

Hardy looked at her with some disbelief but her gaze was unwavering, hazel eyes a touch too brightly colored. Hardy closed the door more softly than he would have with Miller’s car, the soft click of the locking mechanism telling him it had shut completely. He made a ‘ _does that work for you’_ gesture and Lucia nodded in what he assumed was ‘ _yes’._

 

“Would you like anything?” She continued nonchalantly, locking the doors.

  
He shook his head, “No. Make it short.”

 

Turning his back to her, Hardy made his way to the station. He ordered several of the uniforms to start compiling the information on the whiteboard and headed into his office to do some research of his own.

 

\----------------

 

By the time Arden had returned, there was a sizeable pile of papers on his desk and he looked up when she knocked at his doorjamb. “Mr.Hardy?”

 

Hardy couldn’t stop himself from making a face. Made him sound like a teacher. “Hardy is just fine. What is it?”

 

Her head nodded towards the stack. “We have the names of the florist as well as the mortician who worked on the body before the wake.” Her hand disappeared into her suit and she pulled out a folded paper, adjusting her grip on the iPad under her other arm, “I also got a list of the people who were expected at the wake today. They are pulling up information on them as we speak.”

 

“Good work.” Opening the list, he scanned it for anyone he could recognize but none of the names rang a bell. “Small list.”

 

“Probably came to Broadchurch to get away.” Arden came in when Hardy gestured to the small sofa, seating herself on it in a way that took up the least amount of space, setting the iPad beside her just as neatly. “He was well-off. According to the obituary, a real-estate mogul who retired a decade ago.”

 

“Any public rivalries or enemies?” Wealthy people rarely made it to the top without stepping on a few heads along the way.

 

“Most likely they exist,” Arden was agreeing with him, crossing her ankles, the shine of her dress shoes glinting in the office, “I also asked if there was a will and if we could get a copy of it.”

 

If there was anything that would set off fire in a family, it was a rich man’s will. “Good thinking.” Hardy acknowledged, settling back in his chair. “We have to watch out for reporters. No doubt they’ll get wind of this soon.” His mouth twisted into an angry scowl as he remembered Danny. The Echo and later, the Sunday Herald felt like flies swarming Broadchurch, hungry for a taste of flesh, uncaring whose it consumed in the process. The rest of the office knew to steer clear of them, to say nothing. Few people forgot his dislike for the media.

 

Arden’s face twitched. “I am not a fan either. Journalism should be a high priority threat when it is not invited.”

 

Hardy couldn’t agree more. “Where did you work before?” _Why Broadchurch?_ Was the actual question.

 

She shifted for a moment, hands coming to her lap. “Interpol.”

 

There was a long silence. Long enough for Hardy to realize she wasn’t joking.

 

“Interpol.” He tried schooling his face into something more than dumbfounded blinking, eventually managing to arrange his features into something neutral.

 

Well. He didn’t need to wonder about her training then. Or maybe he’d have to wonder doubly about it. Broadchurch was certainly a long way down. Either she was here by choice or was forced into the position. When she didn’t extrapolate further, he shifted his attention to the stack of papers on his desk. “What else do we know about Leonard Allerton?”

 

Her shoulders went down a fraction, clearly relieved. “He married young, the wife passed away two decades ago, leaving him alone with two sons, both in their thirties- twins.” Crossing her legs, she continued, “The woman, Amelia Allerton is married to Fredrick. The marriage was recent, a little over a year ago. Arnold is divorced and his ex is out of the country in Paris, has been for the better part of the last five years. No children.” After a second, she continued, “They are all scheduled to come in today.”

 

Leaning forward, Hardy flipped open several folders containing files on their man. “Any thoughts off the top of your head-” Arden’s mouth twitched in a smile, filling Hardy with a sense of dread regarding her sense of humor, “about why anyone would do such a thing?”

 

“Humiliation, most likely,” She answered after a moment, “Revenge is a second close option. There are probably people Allerton has wronged or people who _feel_ like they have been wronged.” It was a fine line, “They probably want to humiliate or mar the family’s name in some way.” Her lips twisted as she thought about it for a second longer, turning over possibilities in her head. “The head has not turned up anywhere public, yet-”

 

That made sense. “Based on the timeline, whoever took the head has had long enough to make a public show of it, if they wanted.”

 

“Since it has not,” Arden continued, “It is most likely a personal motive.”

 

“Most crime is,” Hardy snorted.

 

She tilted her head, giving him the point. “Personal, like a trophy. An act of private revenge.” Her fingers folded over the edge of her knee as she continued, “Until we get more information from the family, we will be effectively shooting in the dark.”

 

Her iPad lit up and Hardy’s eyes flicked to it, alerting Arden. Picking it up, she flicked her fingers over the screen, her eyes lighting up. “I have a copy of the will.”

 

“Good. Send it to legal and tell me what they find as soon as they’re done.” He dismissed her, hunching forward over his own documents as she left.

 

\-----------------------

 

“Excellent work!” He couldn’t keep the excitement from his voice as he looked over her notes. In his daughter’s words, this was... _juicy._ “The land is worth _how_ much?”

 

“Allerton has about three hectare’s worth of land, two hectares in Westminster and one in East London. Altogether, that is about-” she flipped through her iPad, “287 million pounds.”

 

If Hardy were crass he’d whistle. Instead, he settled for pursing his lips and nodding slowly. “Quite a lot.” More than enough to cause some tension. Land in London, _especially in_  Westminster was valuable.  “What does the will say on the inheritance?”

 

“The legal department is looking over the particulars,” Arden was saying, typing something into her device. “There are 500 pages but I have asked them to send me information they think relevant, especially if it does not require any context.”

 

Waiting always wore on Hardy’s nerves, but there was no sense in pushing. Legalese was not his area of expertise and with something like a will, the context was important. The chair creaked as he leaned back, hands behind his head as he stared at the mottled ceiling of his office. There were slight water stains between the tiles from a leaky pipe, probably from before his time. He would have gone bloody bonkers if he’d had _anything_ dripping onto his paperwork.

 

“What about the list? Any of them from Broadchurch?” It was a very sparse list, containing only ten names, none of which he recognized. Then again, Hardy hadn’t known that there were any people of Allerton’s wealth even _living_ in Broadchurch. The scope of the town kept increasing over the months he’d been there and Hardy wasn’t sure he was particularly comfortable with that thought.

 

There was a noise as Arden hummed in answer, “Two, out of the ten. The rest are coming in from out of town- or were supposed to.”

 

“Who?” He sat forward again, rubbing his eyes with the pads of this thumbs in order to relieve the pent up strain.

 

“Albert Millerson, an old acquaintance.” His computer pinged, “I have sent you some newspaper clips from 1976. They had been in business together before they split. The details on their separation are secondhand information.”

 

Hardy skimmed the article. “They don’t look particularly friendly, do they?” The two men, clearly much younger, standing a few fair feet away from one another under a headline that read: _‘MILLERTON DISPUTE SETTLED: PEACE._  Hardy made a face at the horrible portmanteau. He scrolled through the article,

 

“....profitable hectare in Southwark,” an industrial plot of land, “5.4 million pounds…” the article devolved into particulars, who had wanted to buy the land and why. “Turns out that Allerton didn’t want to sell, but it doesn’t say why.” The two had settled the dispute in court and the article was disappointingly absent of any real facts after the initial first few paragraphs.

 

There was a soft shuffle and Hardy looked up to see Arden rounding his desk, leaning forward to look at the article over his shoulder. He leaned to the side to give her a better angle on the screen.

 

“Millerson had a steep downturn in business in the next few decades. Allerton came from old money. I would say that their partnership, in which Millerson was barely established, benefitted greatly from Allerton’s clout and history. I would also bet that the disagreement forced any other potential buyers and business to err on the side -and family- of caution in any future dealings.”

 

“Educated guess?” Hardy raised a brow at her, “Or anecdotal knowledge?”

 

She stared at him, unblinking. The corner of her mouth tilted just the slightest. “Picking yourself up by your bootstraps is a bigger sentiment in America than it is here.”

 

“And the other?” He closed the file on Millerson.

 

She went back to the sofa and picked up her iPad. “Margaret Black. Head of Angel’s First charity foundation.”

 

He couldn’t say he’d heard of it. “What do they do?”

 

“Mostly funding for community projects.” She was flipping through the iPad again, fingers moving in a blur over the small keyboard she’d attached to it- distantly, Hardy was a little jealous. Typing paperwork had always been a nightmare.

 

“Their statement on Facebook says-” Arden’s voice pitched a little higher, _‘Striving to make the community a better place, Angel’s First’s goal has always been to empower people and create opportunities. From building gardens and parks in impoverished neighborhoods to making sure that schools have adequate supplies, Angel’s First always thinks of the people. Call to see how you can contribute today!”_

 

He’d never heard a more generic pitch in his life and his face must have given it away because Arden was chuckling at him. “Where are they located?”

 

“Birkam Road?” Arden said, clearly unfamiliar with the street names but Hardy knew it and remembered seeing the small (what he’d thought was a shop) situated at the corner of Birkam and Leder. Gods it had a bloody ugly logo, now that he remembered it.

 

“I know it. Maybe Allerton had a generous streak in him.” Hardy’s gut always nagged against dismissing anything so he didn’t. “We’ll give her and Millerson a visit after-”

 

Hardy’s phone buzzed, interrupting him and he picked it up before it managed to ring a second time. “Yes. Got it.” The chair slid back as he hauled himself off, “Come on Arden, the medical examiners got something.”

 

“Of course,” Arden said smoothly and Hardy heard the jangle of keys as she followed him down.

 

\------------------------

 

The medical examiner (Hardy didn’t remember the man’s name, something Miller would have glared at him for) was leaning against the table and shaking his head as he explained his findings. “Look at the edges,” he was pointing at the topmost edge of the neck, where the skin had furled just the slightest bit outwards, “no contusions, and look at the spine- the cut of it is almost completely even with the skin.”

 

A little spark of annoyance unfurled in Hardy’s chest. “What does that mean?” He kept his voice level but Arden was the one to answer,

 

“Industrial equipment then.” The body, now unclothed and covered by a thin sheet on a medical table looked pale and stiff. “Not done by hand.”

 

The ME agreed with a surprising sound of admiration, “The slice is even,” he pointed his pinkie at the edge of the skin, “and of course the amount of strength someone would need to lop off someone’s head _and_ cut the bone so evenly is-” he shrugged with a quick shake of his head, indicating that the idea was ludicrous. “Anything done by hand would have ended up in a lopsided cut- certainly would need more than one chop to get it done. If that were the case the bone would be far more damaged than it is.”

 

Arden continued turning the table, coming to the edge where the severed neck was and leaned down to look at it far more closely than Hardy would have everbeen comfortable doing himself. “Are there abrasions?”

 

The ME was nodding, clearly excited for some discourse, “Of course, there’s no equipment that can cut someone’s skin without _some_ type of friction, but it definitely wasn’t a saw or anything with serrated edges. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was a guillotine.”

 

“Post mortem execution…” Arden murmured, eyes wide as she straightened up. 

 

She sighed deeply, hands going to her pockets as she leaned back. Her gaze was...chillingly focused, tilted head taking the sight of Allerton’s body for a long, uncomfortable moment that lingered in the air between all three of them. Hardy watched her, uneasy with the strange combination of  _clinical_ and  _prey_ in her features. 

 

Then she settled back, her face smoothing over into a more placid expression. Hardy pushed on, “Was anything else disturbed? Any other marks on his body or things missing?”

 

The ME’s dark curls shook counter to his head, “No. We’re waiting on results from the skin around the edges of the cut to see if we can determine any microscopic residue from anything like metal or cloth. We can narrow down what kind of tool was used when the results come in.”

 

“Keep us updated,” Hardy said, “come on Arden.”

 

“Yes, sir.” She said softly.


End file.
